


Shadows - Part III

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [21]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fear attracts the fearful: the strong, the weak, the innocent, [and especially] the corrupt."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows - Part III

**Author's Note:**

> Betabetabeta: MerryAmelie, writestufflee, C, and Lauranna
> 
> UPDATE:
> 
> Dogmatix is made of complete awesome and made us all some very hot Venge art. *Squee!*  
> http://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/78512003960/i-have-gotten-sucked-into-a-star-wars-fic

Serenity escaped her.

She was Depa Billaba, Chalactan Adept and Jedi Master of the Order, and the serenity she had relied upon for her entire life had become a mask. She wanted to say she had been troubled since the day she had raised her blade against Jil-Hyra, saving her Temple and her home.

She could not say thus. Depa had been troubled in her heart for far longer. If she was going to be entirely honest, if only with herself, the first stirrings of unease had begun the day of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Knighting. The sixteen-year-old boy had performed a great feat of Force manipulation with the same ease with which Depa breathed, and its beauty had astounded her.

Her tears had not begun to fall until, in that same moment, Depa had a sharp, crystalline realization: _The truth he brings will be the death of us all._

She had recognized the fear inherent in that thought, and had done her best to set it aside. Depa had dealt with young Obi-Wan as one Master recognizing another. They were never quite friends, but he treated her with respect, valuing her opinions, and she had always appreciated that.

Depa spent time with Lofla after her strange actions in the creche, sitting with her during countless Mind Healer appointments. Lofla had been _normal_ unless Obi-Wan or young Anakin was mentioned, a fact that even Depa had attributed to the later-revealed coercion.

She wondered, often now, if it had been only the Sith’s coercion speaking.

Killing Lofla had brought the earlier fear rushing back, especially when the entire Temple seemed at risk. Even though it was Obi-Wan who had held up the support columns underneath the creche, preventing its internal collapse until the children were safe, Depa felt like she had helped cause its destruction by bringing Obi-Wan Kenobi and Lofla Jil-Hyra face-to-face.

Depa had received no censure for Jil-Hyra’s death. Her actions were praised; she had followed the Code and acted in defense of the Order. Her dear friend’s body had eventually been burned on a pyre, granted her proper respect.

Then the Sith had returned: Sidious, the true face of a Senator who had come so close to ruling the Republic. When Obi-Wan had revealed that the Sith Lord’s emergence was the very pivotal event he had promised to warn them against, Depa felt that original horror all over again.

Accepting his place on the Council had seemed the wisest course of action. It was far easier, that way, to keep her eye on the potential danger that Obi-Wan might represent. Then had come Zan Arbor’s poison, and the young Master had become Other. He was now the very thing that he’d once wished to warn them against, and the Council as a whole would do nothing.

Depa Billaba had killed one of her dearest friends. Meanwhile, this new Sith, this dire _threat_ , was roaming free.

Still, Obi-Wan had harmed no one. He had not threatened the Order in any way.

Not yet.

Depa very much feared that the day would come soon when the one called Venge would harm them all. If that day came, and she had done nothing...Depa did not want to look upon her mate’s face, upon Mace or Yoda or dear Adi—anyone—and feel the guilt of not having acted in their defense.

“All right,” Depa said, opening her eyes to gaze at the Councilor seated across from her. “This is what we must do.”

 

Republic Date 5201: 3/8th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

Raallandirr had thought there would be words when she showed her Master the slip of ’plast that Master Obi-Wan had given her. She had not expected this utter _stillness_ , a quietness of body that she would have mistaken for meditation if not for Qui-Gon Jinn’s open-eyed stare. Not even his long-distance conversations with Master Obi-Wan would create such a response. Sometimes he was glad, afterwards, but more often than not, he just seemed frustrated.

Qui-Gon turned his head and looked at her. [Master?] Rillian ventured, hesitant.

“Come with me,” he said at last, unfolding his long legs and standing up from the floor.

Rillian darted after him, watching as he settled down at the terminal in their quarters. Anakin glanced at her; Rillian lifted her shoulders in a shrug. She didn’t know what was going on yet, either.

Master Qui-Gon requested Master Yoda’s presence, which was almost to be expected. “Suggestions, Padawan?” he asked her.

Rillian had no idea what he was planning, but she said, “Master Yaddle.” It was an impulse, but she trusted her instincts.

“I was thinking of her, yes.” Then, to Rillian’s surprise, he contacted Master T’ra Saa.

When Qui-Gon explained what he wished of her, Master T’ra gave a slight frown. “Should I bring Aayla with me?”

Qui-Gon seemed to think about it, but shook his head. “I’ll not usurp another Master’s teaching rights, T’ra. It should be Quinlan’s decision.”

“Oh, so cryptic,” Master T’ra said with a smile. “I always find it fascinating when you younglings try to be circumspect. I will see you in a few minutes.”

“Sooooo, where are we going?” Anakin asked, standing up with a datapad in one hand.

“For a long walk,” Qui-Gon replied, signing off from the terminal. “Grab your robes. It’s not exactly temperate where we’re going.”

Rillian and Anakin exchanged looks again, but went to do as directed. Rillian dressed in her robe, taking a moment to make sure that both her lightsabers were tucked neatly into place in her bandolier. She didn’t think Master Qui-Gon was leading them to a fight, but it seemed wiser to be prepared.

Anakin stacked all of his datapads into a pile and carted them back to his room. He was being secretive about whatever project he was working on, but Master Qui-Gon was allowing him to be, so Rillian wasn’t pressing too hard. Whatever it was, her brother Padawan always looked grim when he was staring down at those particular datapads.

Teya was waiting for them at the door, his tail swishing. The feline had been particularly grumpy since they’d come home, but he was also making a point of spending his days following at least one of them around the Temple. He had a new collar, too, a vivid red band with an ident chip embedded in the fabric, so that none of the other carnivores would think he was food.

“It’s a very long way,” Master Qui-Gon told the cat. Teya did not look impressed. “Suit yourself.”

Padawans and cat followed Qui-Gon through the Temple, until they were at the top of the Grand Stair near the Temple’s public entrance. Master Yoda was waiting there, fully cloaked; without a word, Qui-Gon held out his arm, and Yoda leapt up, climbing to perch high on Qui-Gon’s back.

 _Just keep going,_ Master Qui-Gon sent, when Rillian would have voiced a question. _I would prefer to avoid notice._

 _Nobody’s going to pay us the slightest bit of attention,_ Anakin said, a faint, crooked smile on his face. _It’s not full-fledged hiding, but_ this _I can totally do._

Master Yaddle was already walking to meet them at the bottom of the stairs, and she fell in line behind them with a gentle smile on her face. Master T’ra was waiting at a door that Rillian had never noticed before, hidden behind one of the giant columns.

T’ra Saa opened the door and then remained in the lead, taking them to a turbolift that was much smaller than standard. Teya perched on Rillian’s left foot for the ride down. Rillian’s curiosity grew as the lift plummeted, giving her a queasy feeling in her stomach.

“It’s a really old lift,” Anakin said, in answer to her unspoken question. “The dampers aren’t as well-tuned.”

The lift stopped with a jolt that caused Rillian to utter a short _wuff_ of alarm, and Master Yaddle looked miffed at the sudden deceleration. They got out and walked only a short distance before there were more stairs, leading down in a tight, confined circle. Rillian looked around as she walked, surprised by the dust coating the organic architecture that decorated the stairwell.

The stairs ended, and the tight corridor opened back up into a room similar to the vast, open spaces that Rillian was used to in the upper parts of the Temple. There were glow panels in the upper walls, flickering and underpowered, but there was still enough light to reveal the graceful arches that leapt across the ceiling. The room had no furnishings or wall-hangings, and the tile floor beneath her feet was thick with dust. There was enough chill in the air that Rillian was grateful for her robe.

[Where are we?] Rillian asked, as Teya bounded across the floor, leaving a trail of cat prints in his wake.

“We are in the second-oldest part of the Temple,” Master T’ra Saa answered. “The air is better here than in other rooms, as this hall’s windows still survive.”

Rillian looked up as one of the glowpanels lit up enough to reflect light off of the bank of windows. The glass was intact, but there was absolute darkness on the other side.

“In the opposite hall, did Master Jil-Hyra meet her end,” Master Yaddle said in a soft voice.

“And we are going to be avoiding that spot today,” Master Qui-Gon said firmly. “This way.” Master T’ra conceded the lead to him, and followed after him, both of them leaving well-defined boot prints on the floor.

“About a thousand years old, right?” Anakin asked, returning to the prior subject.

Master Yaddle nodded. “The Temple was razed fifteen hundred years ago, and hastily rebuilt. The construction was poor—the galaxy had suffered great losses, and no money was there to rebuild when so many were also suffering. Only after the Ruusan Reformation was the Temple fully reconstructed. You stand in an homage to the lost original.”

“And as Coruscant built itself up, so did the Temple,” Master T’ra continued. “We reach for the sky, and ignore the ground.”

Rillian made a face when her Master brought them to yet more stairs. These looked to be made of real stone, not duracrete, and the mortar that bound the rock was beginning to crumble.

“Last set, I promise,” Master Qui-Gon said, when he noticed Rillian’s expression.

[I am spoiled by lifts,] Rillian muttered, following them down. She turned to Skywalker and found that Master Yaddle had also chosen to avoid walking, and was now perched on Anakin’s back.

Teya was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. They were now in a much smaller chamber, one that was devoid of light until Master Yoda and Master Qui-Gon used the Force to kindle fires in wall-mounted brackets.

[Torches?] Rillian said in disbelief, while Yoda hopped back down onto the ground with surprising grace.

“There are light fixtures in here, but they were never connected to any of the modern power sources,” Master T’ra explained. “And fire seems appropriate.”

Rillian looked around as the torches flared high, casting orange light. The ceiling also had lovely, defined arches; the walls were covered in smudges of color that she suspected might once have been artwork, but age had worn the details away. In front of them was a wall that had an interlocking weave pattern—doors, she realized, but with no visible means of opening them.

“The true heart of the Temple, this is,” Master Yoda said, gaining Rillian’s rapt attention. “A sister Temple to Ossus, the Coruscant Temple once was. Then came the Cataclysm, and many wars. Necessary, it was, for the Jedi to be found in a central place. Then there was peace, and still, the Jedi stayed.”

“This is the only thing that remains of the very first Coruscant enclave,” Master T’ra said. “It was constructed five thousand years ago. What it shelters is sacred, and far, far older.”

Anakin looked confused. “If this place is so important, why doesn’t everyone come down here?”

“Only for certain individuals will these doors open,” Master Yaddle intoned.

“And you are standing here with all of those who are known to be capable,” Master T’ra said in a wry voice. “If there are others, they have not, or will not, admit to the talent.”

“Capable of doing so, Obi-Wan is, but tested himself, he has not.” Master Yoda looked cross.

Master Qui-Gon shook his head. “I think he was concerned about what he would see.” Master Yoda gave a disgruntled _hmph_ in response.

“I believe the two of you might be able to, as well,” Qui-Gon said, meaning Rillian and Anakin. “Anakin would have to learn it, but Rillian has a natural affinity.”

For once, Rillian understood first. [It’s the Living Force. To open the door, you must be using that part of the Force.]

Master T’ra nodded. “A concept that is unpopular in our modern Order. Open the doors, Qui-Gon. Even beyond your mystery, I find that it has been too long since I visited our Temple’s heart.”

Rillian could feel it when her Master started his work. A great rush of warmth filled the room, and the doors lit up with an ethereal blue glow before they split along that interwoven line. She expected the creak of ancient, abused hinges, but there was no sound as the doors opened inward.

She was not ashamed to admit that she followed close behind her Master as he walked inside, not knowing what to expect. Anakin followed just behind Rillian, and then the remaining Masters passed through the open doorway.

Rillian glanced around, puzzled. She could see no light sources, no torches, but the room was bright, almost as bright as being outside during the day. The ceiling and walls were old stone, with patches of moss growing upon them. The floor was firm, dry earth. There was a small pool of shallow water in the center of the room. Rocks of many shimmering hues had been stacked in little piles around it, like offerings at a shrine.

“That’s the Temple wellspring?” Anakin asked in a skeptical voice.

Master Qui-Gon looked amused; he was not the only one. “What were you expecting, Anakin?”

“I guess I’m too used to bedtime stories,” Anakin admitted. “It just seems like it should be…y’know, grand. Instead, it’s just a spring.”

“Not exactly.” Master T’ra was smiling. “There is no source for this water, Padawan Skywalker. By virtue of its appearance and placement, the water this shallow hole contains should have evaporated long ago. It should be stagnant and unpleasant to the tongue, but to drink it reveals water that tastes of the cleanest, purest spring. No matter how much you take, the same amount of water remains.”

[Wow,] Rillian rumbled, her eyes widening. [I understand why the original inhabitants of Coruscant would have considered it sacred.]

“Yeah, you’d definitely never go thirsty,” Anakin said, and Rillian shot him an aggrieved look. They were confronted with an eternal body of water, and he was thinking desert practicality.

“More to a wellspring there is than drinking water.” Master Yoda chuckled.

At Master Yaddle’s suggestion, they sat in a circle around the small pool. Teya pretended to ignore them all, prowling the room with his nose to the floor.

Rillian looked into the water. It was perfectly clear, with a pale, sandy bottom. She glanced up at her Master, who nodded, so she put her hand inside. It felt like water, but there was an underlying sense of invigoration that Rillian found pleasant. She attempted to reach down and touch the sand, but her hand kept going, deeper and deeper.

“Wizard,” Anakin breathed, when Rillian was in water almost to her shoulder. Rillian drew her arm back, puzzled. She was soaked, her black and white fur running with rivulets of water, just as if it were a normal spring.

“What happens if you fall in?” Anakin asked, while Rillian tried to wring out her fur.

“You would float, just as you would in normal water. I do not, however, recommend swimming down,” Master T’ra said. “There is a myth that a Padawan attempted to swim to the bottom of the wellspring when the unlimited recycler rebreathers were first introduced.”

“According to the myth, the Padawan never came back out,” Master Yaddle finished. “A fine ghost story, such a tale makes.”

“Master Qui-Gon: Something for us you have, yes?” Master Yoda asked, when Rillian’s Master seemed inclined to do no more than listen to the others speak.

Qui-Gon drew out the piece of ’plast, unfolding it and placing it within the pool. Rillian watched in dismay as the written words started to bleed off of the sheet. Then her Master dipped his fingertips into the water and lifted his hand up.

Rillian leaned forward in delighted awe as the water followed Qui-Gon’s fingertips. It flowed up until it was almost the height of an adult, solid and clear as a sheet of glass. The words slid up the sheet of water in black inky trails, reforming to reveal themselves. The letters were larger, but otherwise it was just as it had been written on the ’plast.

 

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force._

 

Master T’ra gasped in delight. “By the Force, you’ve found the old Code.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, while Master Yoda and Master Yaddle gazed at the words in something akin to rapture. “No. Obi-Wan did, and then he gave it to Rillian.”

“I didn’t know there was an old Code, and I had no idea it was the _reverse_ of the current one,” Anakin said, staring at the watery display.

“Where did Master Obi-Wan find this?” Master Yaddle asked Rillian.

[He said that Odan-Urr’s holocron told him,] Rillian answered.

Master T’ra seemed offended. “Then I would dearly love to know what Kenobi said to that blasted holocron. I have quizzed Odan-Urr many times, almost begging him to tell me what the Code used to be. He would never even confess that such a thing existed!”

“I’m feeling kinda dumb right now,” Anakin said, shaking off his surprise. “I didn’t know that there _was_ any other Code.”

“Very few know this,” Master Yaddle murmured. “And to find that the ancient Code speaks thus? Even fewer will wish for it to become known.”

“Thinking, you are,” Master Yoda said, looking at Qui-Gon. “Tell us, you will, of what you dwell upon?”

Master Qui-Gon gave them a smile that looked more like a grimace. “I was thinking about how much easier my life would have been if this were still our Code.”

[I don’t understand,] Rillian said, sensing the downcast nature of her Master’s thoughts.

“Special, your Master is.” Master Yoda smiled. “Like it, he does not.”

“When I was brought to the Temple, it was known to the Jedi that I was born near a wellspring,” Qui-Gon said. “The Rishii refer to it as the _tellamere afon li_.”

Master T’ra looked grave. “The Life’s Blood,” she translated.

Qui-Gon nodded. “When the H’kig sect settled nearby, they called it the River of Light.”

“The river’s a wellspring?” Anakin looked surprised. “Wow, I had no idea.”

“Common knowledge, that is _not_ ,” Master Yaddle said in a stern voice. “Bear this in mind, you must.”

“Objects from the River of Light cannot be taken—the wellspring does not allow it, much like the sand in this wellspring can never be touched,” Qui-Gon told them, and then gazed at Anakin. “The stone you and Obi-Wan now share is the only one of its kind. The wellspring granted it to me when I was younger than you are now.”

“So it’s still part of the wellspring. That’s why it responds to Force-users,” Anakin guessed.

“Only some,” Qui-Gon corrected him gently. “The stone is very particular. It responded to all of us sitting here, and to Obi-Wan and Kimal.”

[Not Xanatos?]

“Oh, Xanatos earned his own reaction, but he never cared for rocks, no matter how much light they emitted,” Qui-Gon said with a faint smile. “Let me return to the point that Yoda wishes me to make. When I was eight years old, Yoda and I traveled to Rishi to revisit the place of my birth. The colony my parents helped to found was long destroyed, but the H’kig and the local Rishii clan welcomed us.”

Qui-Gon and Master Yoda exchanged fond looks. “Imagine our surprise when they informed us that I was not born near the wellspring. I was born _in_ it.”

“Strange mammalian birthing techniques,” Master T’ra said.

Master Qui-Gon smiled. “I was the first child conceived in the new colony. That my parents were both Force-sensitive was considered a good omen by all three groups. My mother wanted a water birth, and the wellspring’s guardians granted permission for her to use the river.”

“That kinda explains a lot,” Anakin said, and Rillian added her agreement. Her Master’s trick with the words and the water suddenly seemed much less imposing, and far more innate.

Master Yaddle nodded. “Some of us have talents in the Living Force. For dear young Qui-Gon, it was the _only_ thing he knew. For this, he was both celebrated and castigated.”

“It has been the work of my entire life to gain some sort of middle ground between the Living and the Unifying Force,” Qui-Gon said in a quiet voice. “And for most of the Order, that will never be enough.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Anakin burst out. “It’s like Obi-Wan said—we shouldn’t care about one side or the other, just listen to all of it!”

“A sensible point of view, you have,” Master Yoda affirmed.

“And a very dangerous one,” Master T’ra added. “Our Council, or Order, is dominated by politics. Necessary awareness of bureaucratic design has long been superseded by an all-consuming adherence to political law.”

“A Council seat, you should take, if change you wish to bring,” Master Yaddle told the Neti.

“I did that once already.” Master T’ra was frowning. “They didn’t listen to me one hundred years ago; why would it be any different now?”

Anakin’s expression was slowly becoming one of complete dismay. “Is…is this why Obi-Wan thinks he’s going to be a martyr?”

Rillian started in horrified surprise. Qui-Gon’s head snapped around to stare at Anakin. “ _What?_ ”

Anakin swallowed visibly as he became the abrupt center of attention. “Venge told me, on RF-228, that Odan-Urr had called him a martyr.”

Master Qui-Gon scowled. “Over my dead body.”

“Over no one’s dead body, if you please,” Master Yaddle muttered.

 _“The voice of change is often the voice of the martyr,”_ Master Yoda said. “Those are the words of Jedi Master Hrr’ka Tiin.”

“Right before his execution.” Master T’ra grimaced. “That may be a poor example, Master.”

[What did they execute him for?] Rillian wanted to know.

“Hrr’ka Tiin preached acceptance of our Sith brethren, citing our mutual origins as a reason to embrace the enemy and make him our friend,” Master Yaddle said.

“Uhm…but that’s true. The Sith and Jedi sharing an origin point, I mean,” Anakin pointed out, when Rillian looked at him askance. Again.

“It was less that the people of his time disputed his facts and more that they took umbrage with his timing,” Master Qui-Gon explained. “It was right in the middle of one of the bloodier wars against the Sith. Tiin was branded a traitor by the Republic.”

“That sounds familiar,” Anakin muttered. “Man, but it’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad when everyone’s being an asshole.” Rillian barked out an unexpected laugh, and even Master Yoda smiled.

“What we need is a way of introducing this Code without sharing Hrr’ka Tiin’s fate,” Master T’ra mused aloud, as Qui-Gon waved the water back down into the wellspring.

“A way, I do not yet see,” Master Yoda said.

Rillian watched in utter fascination as the words became living lines of black ink before reforming on the ’plast. When Qui-Gon drew the sheet back out of the water, the handwriting was where it belonged, with no sign that it had ever been removed.

“That is so blasted cool,” Anakin said. “How did you do that, anyway?”

Master Qui-Gon smiled. “It’s a wellspring, Ani. It happened because I wanted it to.”

They left the room as a quiet group. Rillian felt solemn, and a little bit frightened. She could understand more of Master Obi-Wan’s concerns, now—Rillian didn’t want to be a martyr, either.

The other Masters went off on their own when they returned to the modern levels of the Temple. When Qui-Gon, Rillian, and Anakin got back to their quarters, Master Qui-Gon took the ’plast sheet and tucked it into one of Master Obi-Wan’s paper journals.

“There was a point to that trip, right?” Anakin asked.

“There’s a point to most of the things I do,” Master Qui-Gon said, which made Rillian chuckle. “You both should have a clearer idea of certain divisive mindsets that exist within the Jedi Order, especially given who your Masters are.”

Rillian mulled over that for a moment. [Because…because knowing about Master Yoda, Master Yaddle, and Master T’ra might help us to figure out who else we could show the old Code to. Right?]

Master Qui-Gon smiled. “Exactly.”

[What should we do in the meantime, then?] Rillian asked.

“Now that, I do not know,” Qui-Gon admitted, draping an arm over her shoulders when Rillian nestled in close. She was getting tall, all at once, and now the top of her cropped mane was higher than his elbow.

“Well, I’ve got something,” Anakin said, raising his chin and looking determined. “And it is really freakin’ big.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

There was something about Entrios’s extreme cold that helped soothe the raging Fire in Venge’s blood. He didn’t know if it was a biological response to the chill, or entirely in his imagination, but regardless, standing out of doors every day gave him a few moments of peace.

It also gave him opportunity to focus his attention on a hill that was out beyond the landing beacons. Venge sometimes sensed…not quite a presence, but a hint of something out of place. He couldn’t discern anything else, which was aggravating.

Abella found him staring at that distant ridge. “If you keep glaring like that, you’re going to start another fire,” she said.

“The snow will extinguish it,” he replied. “Tell me about Dravaco.”

“Dravaco?” Abella sounded surprised. “Well, he’s healthy. The twins say he’s about as stubborn as you are, which could be useful.”

That earned his friend a brief smile. “It is not the stubbornness that concerns me. Dravaco has a strange aura of guilt to him.” It was something he’d had to dig for; the Master had excellent, complicated shields that Venge approved of.

“Oh, that,” Abella said. “You didn’t hear?” When he shook his head, she explained. “Dravaco was dating a nurse from Judicial Forces. From all accounts, their relationship was quite serious. He was in-Temple after a long mission on the Rim when the news came that she’d been found murdered.”

“Ah.” Venge found his gaze drawn back to that same damn snowy hilltop. “I understand now.”

“He blames himself for failing to protect her.” Abella came forward and rested a hand on his arm. It was something she did, every day, and still it took almost all of his willpower not to flinch away from the gentle touch. “Su’um-Va says that Dravaco’s flirtation with Grierseer is the most interest Dravaco has shown in another living being in months.”

“We all blame ourselves,” Venge said in a quiet voice.

Abella nudged him in the shoulder with her fist. “You have no reason for moping,” she informed him, and then asked, “Just what are you looking at, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” Venge said. “According to sensors, there is nothing over there but snow. I have walked through the area myself and sensed nothing, but…but still, I find myself drawn to that spot.”

Abella raised her chin, her nostrils quivering as she scented the breeze. “I smell nothing. Could it be an echo, like the ones you’ve mentioned that the cultists left behind?”

“I do not believe so. What concerns me is the fact that I am not the only one who knows how to hide within the Force,” Venge said.

Abella looked up at him. “Sidious?”

“No.” Venge’s refusal was immediate. “I would know. At this distance, I would smell him. It goes beyond olfactory talents, Abella,” he said, when she gave him a wry look. “There is simply no better way to explain it than that.”

“All right,” Abella conceded. “Have you smelled anything at all, then?”

“Just once. Just a brief moment,” Venge frowned. “It seemed…familiar, but then it was gone, and there has been nothing since.”

“Maybe you’re thinking on it too hard,” Abella suggested.

Venge forced himself to turn away. “You might be right. I could just be jumping at shadows.”

Abella snorted. “Obi, you’ve been doing that for almost a week already.”

That surprised a short laugh out of him. “An excellent point.”

“You need to rest, by the way,” she said, turning professional. “You’re starting to get peaked. Time to try one of my new sedative cocktails.”

“Not yet.” Venge waved a hand in irritation when she glowered at him. “The rest day that the twins are insisting on is almost upon us, dear Bella. You can experiment on me then.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Abella grumbled.

The opportunity was too good to resist. “I thought perhaps it was Healer Zarin that you would rather be holding.”

Abella chittered indignantly at him in her own language, filling the air with Chitanook invectives as he made his escape. The inside of the Cathedral felt too warm after the snow, and Fire responded, flaring up until he tamped it back down, choking back rage and flame. As time went on, it was becoming both harder and easier to do so.

_Thank you. For reminding me._

Venge stopped in the corridor, grateful there were no witnesses as he pressed a hand to his chest. He was keeping his promise to Qui-Gon as much as he was able, but he _wanted._ He wanted his mate here and present, warm and solid, real and alive. The problem Venge faced was that he could not tell the difference between this intense longing and actual _need._

Venge stepped into the set of quarters he and the Healers had repurposed as a shared office. The perpetual pot of tea that the twins were relying on was empty and dry. He thought about making another, just for something to do with his hands that would be useful to others, when a sense of wrongness impinged on his senses.

He lifted his head; no, there was no one else in the office. No Shadow had yet to figure out either trick of hiding, but Quinlan was closer than he realized.

Venge turned around in a slow circle, his eyes cataloging the room for the slightest change. He didn’t see it, at first, but then he noticed a sharp angle out of place. He approached the wall-mounted shelves carefully. Here were Ra’um-Ve’s obscure books on mental healing, along with Zarin Har’s manuals on humanoid workings. The shelves had quickly been crammed full of Healer detritus, but one single thing was new. There was a box, sitting almost at eye level.

A box that he couldn’t sense in the Force.

Venge threw up his arm to shield his face, a second too late. The green-white cloud of gas shot out in a pressurized rush.

It didn’t matter that he held his breath. The dioxis was so concentrated that it burned his flesh and seeped into the mucous membranes of his eyes. He choked on his next breath as he stumbled back, and then lost his balance, falling forward and landing hard on his left arm.

 _No. Be still_ , he thought, and quieted his struggle. He didn’t need further air, not yet. Instead, he lay in place, waiting to see who would respond to this triggered trap.

Venge did not have to wait long. Four Knights entered the room, gathering around him in a circle.

“Shit,” said one—Drusin, Venge identified him. He could see Ixell’s scaled feet. Who else?

“Is he dead?” Ahhnta, the Aqualish.

“No such luck,” said Koppina. Venge was disappointed at that; he’d hoped for better from the Corellian. “Just down for the count.”

“We can fix that,” Ixell hissed, and ignited his lightsaber.

When all four blades rose for killing strikes, Venge acted. He pushed himself up and kicked out, blowing out Koppina’s kneecap when his boot impacted. Koppina howled, but Venge was still moving, letting his momentum carry him around to slice Ahhnta across her arm with the knife that popped free from his wrist sheath. Blood had not yet even welled up when Venge crushed Ixell’s lower legs with a wave of compressed Force energy. The Barabel collapsed with a choked-off shriek, and then Venge was facing Drusin, who had frozen in place, his lightsaber half-raised.

Venge stared up at him. “Coward,” he whispered. “Take a fucking nap.”

Drusin collapsed where he stood. Koppina was on the ground, clutching his knee and swearing like he was composing a ballad. Ixell’s tail was still thrashing, even though the Barabel was unconscious. Ahhnta was kneeling and grasping her arm, blood leaking out between her fingers in an unending flow. Tendons had severed like cut strings; Venge kept his blades sharp.

Venge stared around at the Shadows. Rage welled up, yes, but he was surprised at the visceral _hatred_ that came with it.

_No._

This was different from Dravaco’s confrontation.

_Do not._

This was not a face-to-face battle about ideology, but assassination.

 _Qui-Gon,_ he thought, almost dizzy with the power that was trying to overwhelm him. _I think I have figured out the difference between need and want._

He forced it all away and down, into shields and mental compartments and wherever else he could stash the unwanted influx of energy. It would have to come back out, but _later_.

Venge triggered the facility’s alarm system, and went into the ’fresher. The lack of steady oxygen was starting to make his lungs cramp, and he hadn’t had enough time to purge all of the dioxis.

 _Cold water,_ he thought. _Cold water for dioxis_.

He turned the shower on full blast, gasping and losing more of his precious air when ice water struck him full in the face. He slid down the tiled wall, pressed his burnt skin against the cold stone, and let the shower soak his clothes and pull heat and rage from his skin.

He’d come so close.

Venge jerked awake when someone touched him, swinging out with the knife he still held. His cry of protest was nothing more than a rasp.

“Whoa there, skinny butt,” Siri said, her hands held up to reveal that she held no weapons. Then her eyes widened. “Shit. Suva!” she yelled. “Forget the idiots and get in here!”

Su’um-Va appeared next to Siri. Two different types of blood marked his hands. “Oh—damn. Dioxis?” he asked, kneeling down in front of Venge.

Venge nodded. The slight motion was almost enough to send him right back into unconsciousness.

“All right. I need to touch you. Don’t stab me. In fact, give Siri the knife,” Su’um-Va ordered him. “She’ll give it back, I promise. She has enough knives.”

His first instinct was to keep the knife, cling to it, to wrap his hands around the blade…

Venge woke up again in medical, after far too many repeated visuals of slicing his hands on a knife’s edge, over and over again, so very confused as to why it kept cutting him open.

“That was smart, putting yourself in cold water,” Ra’um-Ve said, appearing above him. “It slowed down the dioxis nicely. You may have crippled both Ahhnta and Ixell permanently, by the way.”

“Idiots,” he said. Tried to say. His jaw refused to budge.

“If you said idiots, then I agree with you.” Ra’um-Ve’s fingers prodded the side of his face. He jerked back, trying to raise his hands in self-defense, and discovered that his arms were bound.

“Of course we cuffed you to the bed,” Ra’um-Ve said in response to his angry, hissed protests. “We couldn’t treat your wounds with you trying to take our heads off. Now be still and let me work on your burns.”

It was hard to subside, but if he could allow Ra’um-Ve to root around in his subconscious, he could tolerate a bit of healing. He still flinched when her hands came too close to his eyes.

“Almost a full ten-day I’ve been prodding at you, and still you’re leery of me,” Ra’um-Ve chided him in a gentle voice. “We’ll never be intimate with each other at this rate.”

Venge gave her a look that he hoped conveyed his horror of the very idea.

“There you are,” Ra’um-Ve said in approval. “That’s the grumpy bastard who told me to blow him.”

 _Did not_ , he grumbled, as his thoughts slowly began to clear. _Told you_ not _to._

Ra’um-Ve nodded. “It’s a good thing for both of us that I am not the sort of woman you would make allowances for. Did you notice, by the way, that you’ve been integrating?”

Venge frowned at her, ignoring the pull of healing skin. It was…entirely possible. He had not been feeling as much of the jagged press and tear of his own thoughts, but then, most of his attention had been on the Shadows.

 _Maybe_ , he sent, careful to modulate the strength of it so he wouldn’t deafen the Healer and render her useless. _Almost killed the lot of them._

“But you didn’t,” Ra’um-Ve said, taking a moment from her healing to cup the uninjured side of his face with her palm. “You are still with us, Obi-Wan.”

For some reason, her words left him deeply unsettled. _For now_ , Venge agreed, but it was a thought that he kept to himself.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Boda MonMassa sat in her office chair, turned away from her desk so that she could watch Coruscant’s night sky. It was a peaceful diversion, one that kept her awake and alert when she longed instead to be in her own bed.

 _I may be getting old,_ she thought with a deep sense of bitter amusement. Boda felt much like an old grandmother sitting on an open porch, watching the ebb and flow of her neighbor’s doings.

When her comm finally chimed with the call she had been waiting for, Boda felt equal parts relief and trepidation. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” Tholme said. “Are you having a pleasant evening?”

“That will depend entirely on what sort of news you have,” Boda replied, rotating her chair so that she was facing her desk and comm unit. Tholme’s holographic image was presenting a neutral posture and expression, which told her nothing at all.

“Five of them took the bait,” Tholme said, and Boda bit back a curse.

“Any bodies?”

“None.” Tholme shook his head, and gave her a tight smile. “Kenobi’s got some iron-clad control. I think he should replace Fareesi.”

Boda had been toying with that idea, herself, but Force knew how Kenobi would respond. “Details, please,” she said in a crisp voice.

“Ixell might be crippled, but that will be for the specialists to determine. Ahhnta should be seen by the Healers for physical therapy. Koppina needs a replacement patella, as well as his own therapy. Drusin needs a full re-evaluation because he went down like Nefurro.”

This time Boda did swear. “No shielding?”

“Honestly, I think it was less a shielding problem and more pants-wetting terror,” Tholme said wryly.

That made her even less happy. For a Shadow to fall prey to fear meant that Boda, as Master of Shadows, had failed in her duty. “And the fifth?”

Tholme shook his head. “We haven’t spoken to her yet. She’s the one who set the box in place.”

“I see.” Boda pinched her mouth into a thin, grim line. “And Kenobi?”

“He’s fine,” Tholme reported. “Minor burns, no vision loss. Smart kid—he stuffed himself into a cold shower to keep the worst of the dioxis at bay.”

“All right.” Boda lifted her chin, readying herself for the upcoming skirmish. “There is going to be fallout from this, Master Tholme. Are you prepared?”

“Do you need me present, Master of Shadows?” Tholme asked in return.

“No. Stay there, for the moment. If I need you, I will call. May the Force be with you, Tholme.”

“And with you, Boda,” Tholme said, and his hologram disappeared from her desktop.

“Damn,” Boda said, with deep feeling, before going to seek out her collaborator on the Council.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Mace looked up from the book he held, concerned not by the late visitors to his quarters, but by the aura of tension he could feel from the pair. “Come in,” he said, standing and placing the book aside.   “Good evening, Master of Shadows, Knight Mundi.”

“Master Windu,” Boda MonMassa greeted him, followed by a slight nod from Ki-Adi Mundi. “We must speak, and then you will convene the High Council.”

There were only three reasons that MonMassa would have to address him so. Mace steeled himself; none of those reasons were pleasant. “I am listening.”

“You are familiar with the duties of my office.” MonMassa spoke with grave formality. “I am charged with testing the members of all our councils when there has been a strong disagreement, particularly when lives are at stake. I do this to ensure that the wisdom of all is valued, for the Order stands strongest when we are united in spite of our differences.”

MonMassa motioned towards Ki-Adi, who had been standing by, a sober witness to the conversation. “To that end, I enlisted the aid of Knight Mundi, who is not a Shadow, to test our councilors and ensure that they were upholding their vows.”

“I understand,” Mace said, as a hollow dug its way into the pit of his stomach. He had a bad feeling that he knew what was coming, and it was a sign of MonMassa’s kind heart that she had spoken to him first. “Who failed in this trial, Master of Shadows?”

“Master Trebor…and Master Billaba.” She paused. “I am sorry, Mace.”

Mace closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling her words like a terrible blow. Mace had thought that Depa seemed unlike herself, but she had not socialized with him often of late because of their differing views on current Temple issues.

Adi also said that Depa was more reserved, but had not learned more, for Depa would not share her thoughts with her bond-sister. They had both hoped that Licia’s safe return would help to mend any potential rifts between Depa and Linena, but perhaps they had been looking at the wrong problem—a realization that did not make him feel any less guilty.

Politically, this was something akin to a disaster.

Mace returned his attention to his guests. “What course of action do you suggest, Master of Shadows?” It was not what he wished to say, but all of that would have to come later. This was part of the official process, and no place for his feelings.

“Billaba and Trebor broke their vows to the Council and to the Order. After you call for the High Council to gather, we must all stand witness as they resign their seats,” MonMassa said. “I don’t believe that either Master will respond with violence, but you must be prepared to act if that happens.”

“Politically…” MonMassa hesitated. “Your close relationship to Billaba, and your initial endorsement of Trebor, will weaken your position. I will not demand it, but I will officially suggest that you resign as Head of the Order. This doesn’t need to be a permanent injunction, but I would leave the position to another for at least a year.”

It was hard not to flinch at that. Even with the whisper of rumor, Mace had not believed that his tenure as Head of the Order would end like this.

“Don’t resign from the Council; that would be to suggest a level of responsibility for their actions that you are not culpable for,” Ki-Adi said. His voice was neutral, but Mace could see the sorrow reflected in his eyes, and was grateful for the consideration. As Head of the Order, Depa and Coleman’s actions were still ultimately Mace’s responsibility.

Mace inclined his head in polite response, refusing to bend under the crushing weight of disappointment. “I may still choose my successor?”

MonMassa nodded. “You may, but Billaba and Trebor have forfeited that right.”

“Very well,” Mace said. “Before I call the others, tell me what happened.”

“Two Jedi Councilors, thinking they were in collaboration with a third—” she glanced at Ki-Adi—“instigated an assassination attempt on a fellow Councilor. There are no bodies,” MonMassa hurried to reassure him, when Mace’s eyes widened in alarm. “Five Shadows agreed to carry out the attempt, even when they were told that it would be against the will of the Council as a whole.”

“Damn,” Mace hissed, feeling the first stirrings of anger. “What the hell were they thinking?”

“I do not believe that they were,” MonMassa replied, sounding tired. “You may have lost two Councilors, but I have lost five Shadows from my ranks, and Councilors are much easier to replenish.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Well. This is not how I imagined Sith-hunting graduation,” Fieff said, and shrugged when everyone glared at him. “Sorry.”

“I can’t believe that they did something so foolish,” Kurri snapped, irritated.

Quinlan snorted. “I can’t believe he let them _live_ ,” he said. “I’m not sure I would have been so nice about it.”

“You’re not graduating yet,” Tholme said, arriving with Tachi and Zarin Har trailing behind him. “This was just the first round.”

Tachi had stopped short, motioning with her hand as she counted heads. “We’re down to twelve?”

“Yes. Congratulations,” Quinlan’s Master said in a dry voice. “You’re the least idiotic of an entire batch of idiots.”

“Thanks,” Dravaco muttered.

“Why is your hand wrapped?” Herssella asked Tachi.

“Because our instructor bit me,” Tachi grumbled, massaging the bandages that covered her left palm. “Tried to take his knives so he wouldn’t stab the Healers,” she explained.

Greegor nodded. “Understandable. I am fond of my blades, too.”

Breegin grinned. “I would also have bitten you.”

“Come closer, all of you,” Tholme said, heading to the far corner of the commissary, where an entertainment vid screen had been built into the wall. The twelve Shadows followed, curious. “I have something to show you.”

Quinlan watched in fascination as the vid footage from the office played. Venge found the hidden box in short order, though it was no fun to watch anyone take a pressurized blast of dioxis to the face. He went down, and within moments Ixell, Ahhnta, Koppina, and Drusin were in place, raising their lightsabers to execute him.

Then Venge defended himself, a blur of motion that the cameras barely captured. The four attacking Shadows dropped to the floor, one after the other.

“So!” Tholme shut down the screen and turned to face them. “How long did it take him?”

“Four seconds,” Grierseer whispered.

“Three point seven nine,” Dravaco corrected.

“He’s so _fast,_ ” Gyre said in a near-reverent voice. “He made them look like untrained crechelings.”

“Why _he_ not kill Sidious?” Skaalka wanted to know.

“I have tried to do so on four occasions. None of those attempts worked out very well,” Venge said.

The Shadows turned around, en masse, to find Venge sitting, cross-legged, on one of the commissary tables. His left eye was still showing blood, despite the Healers’ work. There was sunburn-red skin stretching from his forehead, down his cheek, and over his nose, almost reaching his jaw.

“You look well,” Kurri said, deadpan, which earned her a faint smile from Venge.

“Four times, you said?” Fa’an queried.

Venge nodded. “The first time, I was impeded by one of his apprentices. The second time, I was…I had just watched him murder someone very dear. He defeated me easily. The third time, I did well enough, fighting in a duel both mental and physical. Then he opened a Force Storm over my head.”

“What the hell is a Force Storm?” Fieff asked.

“A wormhole,” Quinlan answered.

Dravaco was amazed. “He can _do_ that?”

“I would be less concerned with his ability to do so, and more worried about the fact that Sidious did so while in the midst of a pitched battle,” Kurri said, looking deeply unsettled.

“Sidious is adept at splitting his focus,” Venge told them. “And he has other tricks, as well. The fourth time I confronted Sidious, I remembered nothing of our previous encounters. If not for the actions of others, Tachi and Vos included, I would not be alive.”

Herssella was puzzled. “How could you not have remembered, if it was your fourth such battle?”

Venge glanced around the room a few times, his head tilted as if in thought. “Therein lies the crux of the matter. Learning why requires trust and faith. Both are things your fellow Shadows just failed to demonstrate.”

“I don’t…er, I don’t get it,” Gyre ventured. “It’s not the first time we’ve tried to kill you. What makes this different?”

“Ixell, Owari, Ahhnta, Koppina, and Drusin didn’t fail because they tried to kill me. They failed because they lost faith in MonMassa, and in the judgment of the Council. They let fear guide their actions instead of wisdom, and when the opportunity arose to act on those fears, they seized it. I was not surprised that some of you attacked me when you first met me; you had no knowledge of me, or of the situation,” Venge said. “I would have been concerned if _none_ of you had acted thus. However, ten days have passed since that time. I would hope, by now, that you are all convinced that I do not want any of you dead.”

“You tried to kill me in my sleep,” Fieff grumbled.

“And yet, you are still alive,” Venge returned with a trace of mocking amusement. “I must not have been trying very hard.”

“Owari wasn’t on the vid feed,” Tachi spoke up, looking troubled. “Why is she out?”

“Ah.” The faint glow of Venge’s eyes intensified, but he shielded his anger from them. “Owari has been terrified of me since the first day. She saw her own fate reflected in my eyes, but instead of looking within herself to find out why, she placed the blame on others, and allowed her fears to grow. That alone would not be enough for me to send her away; you all may face a similar trial.”

“What, then?” Tachi asked.

It was Tholme who answered. “Owari planted the dioxis trap in a public space.”

“And by doing so, she endangered all of you. That is _unacceptable_ ,” Venge bit out.

Fa’an narrowed her eyes. “I’m surprised she’s still breathing.”

Venge nodded in recognition of his earlier threat. “She is still breathing because she failed to harm any of you.”

“Owari is no longer a Shadow, and neither are any of the others.” Tholme’s voice was like ice. “MonMassa does not approve of reckless endangerment any more than I do.”

“What about Owari harming _you_?” Quinlan asked Venge.

Venge shrugged. “There are worse things than a bit of dioxis.”

“What about Raffi Wyre, then?” Kurri asked. “He was not involved, but I do not see him here.”

“Wyre volunteered to accompany our injured friends back to Coruscant, to keep an eye on them,” Tholme said. “Wyre is also going to be needed to help MonMassa with recruiting efforts. There are too few of us as it is, and we have just suffered losses that we can’t afford.”

“Here my foolish question,” Skaalka began. “Why you no sense trap?”

“Ah.” Venge frowned. “That box was a rare, shielded container from the Jedi Archives. I only noticed it because I was aware of the change in my surroundings.”

Herssella snapped her beak. “Those boxes are only found in the Vaults,” she said in a low voice.

“You have to have special permission to get a crack at those,” Kurri said. “This goes beyond our Shadow training, doesn’t it?”

“Well beyond,” Venge confirmed. “I have a Council meeting to attend after we are done here.”

 _Fuck_ , Quinlan thought, alarmed. This was an assassination attempt from someone on the High Council. He wondered who would be foolish enough— _stupid_ enough—to try and kill their best hope at defeating Sidious.

Tholme shook his head at the mention of the Council. “Better you than me.”

Venge pressed his hands together, resting his chin on his fingertips. “In light of how this week has gone, and in recognition of what is still to come, your rest cycle has been extended from one day to five, beginning tomorrow. Meditate, or merely rest. Stay here, or leave. Go out and cause mayhem, or whatever it is that you Shadows do with your free time.

“Most of all, be certain that you wish to continue with these lessons. The first ten-day was a light-hearted prank war in comparison to what awaits you upon your return. I do not exaggerate when I say that your view of the universe will undergo a dramatic shift.”

“I’m in,” Quinlan said. “And I say that knowing what sort of shit you’ve got in mind.”

Tachi nodded. “Same here.”

“Not quitting,” Skaalka said, looking insulted by the very idea.

“All right.” Venge smiled, an expression that was not reassuring in the slightest. “I will see you in five days. Be in this room by eighth hour on the fifteenth.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon reacted about like Anakin had suspected he would. His other Master, when faced with massive problems, tended to go into a mode that Anakin had secretly dubbed “detached scenthound.” He would look to be about fifty steps removed from the issue at hand, while also methodically taking every single bit of it to pieces.

Rillian had been puzzled, at first, but once she heard Anakin’s explanation, his sister Padawan had become almost as intensely focused as her Master, but without the thick veneer of detachment. They spent hours poring over the clan listings, the casualties and correspondence, and the timeline Anakin had managed to establish with R2-D2’s help.

At one point, Anakin turned his head away from the kitchen table and realized that the sliding door that led out to the Wilderness Garden was revealing dawn-muted greenery. “Crap!” he blurted. “We’ve been talking all night.”

“Have we?” Qui-Gon looked at the light coming in through the windows, and then down at the number of differing tea ring stains on the tabletop. “Hmm. I suppose we have been.”

[That explains a lot,] Rillian mumbled, rubbing her eyes with both fists and giving vent to a huge yawn. [I just thought my tiredness meant that I wasn’t cut out for this kind of data review.]

“No, you did fine,” Qui-Gon told her, standing and stretching. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“You’re handling this really well,” Anakin ventured.

“I am very disturbed by what you have found,” Qui-Gon said. “But I’ll deal with that later. Right now, you need to decide how you will present this to the Council.”

“You think it’s _ready_?” Anakin asked, startled.

“More than,” Qui-Gon affirmed.

Anakin was bewildered by the confidence in Qui-Gon’s voice. “But…it’s not—”

“Not what?” Qui-Gon sat back down next to Anakin, while Rillian gazed at them both. “You could have presented your findings after your first month of research. Did you think they would not believe you?”

“Well…yeah,” Anakin admitted, lowering his head in embarrassment. He was just realizing how much of his prior life experiences with the Council had been affecting him lately, especially the post-Knighting encounters. Some of it was from Venge’s expert button-pushing, but the rest of it was just old ghosts.

“Why?” Qui-Gon asked, with no hint of censure in his voice.

“Aside from the obvious stuff, I guess I just wanted to see if I could do it by myself,” Anakin said, feeling dumber by the moment. Obi-Wan had trusted him to make his own decisions on this, but that didn’t necessarily mean Anakin would make the right ones. He’d felt the need to prove himself—for what? No one had asked it of him.

“I understand,” Qui-Gon said, to Anakin’s surprise. He lifted his head to find a warm smile on the older man’s face. “If it makes you feel any better, this is Knight-level research you’ve done. Even your first efforts would have been praised, let alone the skill and patience that’s exemplified here.”

“I didn’t do it for praise,” Anakin protested. “I mean, that’d be nice, but it wasn’t about that.”

“Then you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, have you?”

Anakin blinked a few times, dumbfounded.   “ _Oh.”_

[You have weird blinders, Skywalker,] Rillian said, patting him on the arm.

Anakin sighed and covered his face with his hands. “Ugh. Tell me about it.”

Rillian yawned again. [Are we going to finish the day, or can we nap?]

“A nap sounds ideal,” Qui-Gon said, and then their terminal comm chimed. “Or not.”

“I’ll get it.” Anakin got up and toggled on the comm as he checked the ident, repressing his own yawn. Rillian was contagious. “Yes, Master Windu?”

“Is Qui-Gon present, Skywalker?” Mace asked.

 _Oooh, blunt. Not a good sign._ “Yeah, he’s right here. Rillian, too,” Anakin added.

“Tell him that I need him in the Council chambers, immediately. You and Rillian are welcome to join him, since I know he will not keep secrets from either of you, but you must stay against the wall and be silent.”

“Uh—yes, Master Windu,” Anakin said, when he saw Qui-Gon nod. “We’ll be there as soon as possible.” Mace cut the signal with his usual brusque efficiency.

“Your choice, Padawan: Nap, or Council,” Qui-Gon said, ruffling Rillian’s cropped mane.

[Like I could sleep until I find out what’s going on.] Rillian shook herself, putting her tiredness aside. [What do you suppose he wants?]

“We’ll find out when we get there,” Qui-Gon said, and frowned. “Whenever Master Windu sounds like that, it’s usually trouble.”

Anakin was long-used to the fact that a Council briefing could last anywhere from two minutes to two hours. He snagged three ration bars, giving one to Rillian and pocketing the other when Qui-Gon declined. He ate as they walked, passing some early risers in the halls and ignoring the faces that wrinkled in disapproval at Anakin’s mouthful of food. Practicality won out over decorous behavior any day.

They arrived to find Shaak Ti, Master T’ra, Aayla Secura, and Master Yaddle all waiting outside the Council chamber. The Council Secretary’s desk was empty, since it was still two hours before breakfast, and Aayla looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Anakin wound up giving her the spare ration bar, which she took with an appreciative smile.

Qui-Gon exchanged greetings with the other Masters. “What’s going on?”

“We do not yet have all of the details,” Master T’ra began.

“But it’s not good,” Shaak Ti continued. “They had to call for Obi-Wan to represent himself.”

“They’re overriding you as stand-by?” Anakin asked. “They only do that for—” He snapped his mouth shut. He could only think of two reasons, and they were both pretty damn bad. Well, there was a third, but Anakin doubted it would be happening before dawn.

Rillian gave him a nudge. [For what, Skywalker? Some of us don’t speak Councilor-ese.]

“Sudden resignation, death, or disavowal,” Master Yaddle said.

“Disavowal?” Aayla repeated, looking worried.

“There are vows you must speak, promises you honor if you accept a Council seat and agree to represent the Jedi Order,” Master T’ra told Aayla. “Breaking one of those vows means that you immediately lose your seat.”

“There are exceptions granted in certain circumstances, as in Master Obi-Wan’s,” Master Yaddle said.

Rillian nodded. [Because of the poisoning, yes?]

“Right. He’s nuts right now, but he didn’t _choose_ to be nuts, so that’s an exception,” Anakin said. Rillian chuckled, and Aayla grinned at him, a look of shared experience. Both of their Masters were a bit off, even under normal circumstances.

The great doors opened, and Qui-Gon and Master T’ra exchanged a concerned glance that Anakin couldn’t quite interpret. Then he was following everyone inside. He tugged on Rillian’s hand and guided her over to the traditional Councilor’s Padawan spot, using the walk to get a good view of the gathered Council.

 _Force, there are three empty chairs!_ Rillian sent as she, Aayla, and Anakin leaned against the wall.

 _Relax,_ Anakin replied. _They could just be off-planet and unavailable_. Then he got a good look at his Master, and wondered if he was being too optimistic.

A hologram of his Master was projected as being seated in his chair, a meeting method the Council had used a lot during the war. There was a dark blue patch over half his face that looked like a pretty bad burn. Based on his expression, Anakin thought that Venge was trying really hard _not_ to be all Sithly at the moment.

What was weird was seeing that Master Mace wasn’t in his usual chair next to Yoda, but several seats away. The seat next to Master Yoda was empty.

 _Now_ he had a bad feeling about all of this.

Qui-Gon, Master T’ra, and Master Yaddle were standing in the center of the room. After bowing their greetings to the Council, Master T’ra was the first to speak. “What has happened that three seats in this chamber stand empty?”

Master Yoda sighed. “Master Billaba, Master Trebor—disavowed, they have been. Resigned, Master Rancisis has.”

“No,” Master T’ra breathed, and then she turned to look at Mace, who grimaced.

“You know the politics of such a thing as well as I do, Master,” Mace said. “I am asking you to take Master Trebor’s chair, and claim my position as Head of the Order.”

Master Yaddle sighed. “A prophecy, my words were _not_ meant to be.”

“Must it be me?” Master T’ra asked.

“Master of the creche, I am, and give that up, I will not,” Yoda said, looking stubborn.

Master Adi smiled. “My parents would spend far too much time trying to manipulate me to further their own ends.”

“I do too much traveling, for the sake of the Order and for my family,” Knight Mundi said. Plo Koon shook his head; Saesee Tiin just scowled and said nothing, which was pretty typical for a High Council meeting.

Master Piell was amused. “I am not politically minded enough, nor do I have anywhere near your clout, Master T’ra.”

“I’d sooner be shot in the face,” said Venge. Anakin bit his lip to keep from snickering aloud.

“I don’t think you need to be inviting further injury,” Qui-Gon said in a mild voice. “What happened, Obi-Wan?”

“Pressurized dioxis in a shielded box, triggered by a close-range motion sensor.” Venge sounded pleased. “It was a very well-conceived device.”

“Dioxis to the face, Obi-Wan,” Master Mace said, frowning.

Venge shrugged. “That does not change the fact that it was a good idea.”

The other Masters understood before Anakin did, but to be fair, it was the _last_ thing he expected from the current Jedi Council. “Do you mean to tell me that three members of this Council tried to _assassinate_ you?” Qui-Gon growled, outraged.

Anakin felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. “What?” he whispered. _No. They couldn’t have._

He looked at Rillian, who was staring at the Council with her jaw hanging open.

 _Oh, gods, they did._ His mouth went bone dry. Maybe his lingering fears about the Council hadn’t been about the past at all.

Venge shook his head, holding up two fingers. Anakin didn’t think that made the situation sound much better.

It was Mace who said, “Master Billaba and Master Trebor conceived the plot, thinking they had the support of a third Master. Instead, it was a trial created by the Master of Shadows.”

Anakin didn’t remember much about Coleman Trebor, but Depa Billaba? He wouldn’t have suspected it of her now, even though she’d sort of lost her mind during the Clone War.

Dammit, he _liked_ Master Depa!

“Master Rancisis heard of everything that his fellow Councilors had done, and chose to resign his seat,” Master Adi explained. “He felt his views were too close to theirs, and worried that without deep reflection, he would fall prey to their fears and do something foolish.”

“Master Yaddle.” Master Koth looked grave. “Master Rancisis respects the decision you made to retire from this Council last year, but asks that you claim his seat anyway, the favor of a Master to her Padawan.”

Master Yaddle lowered her ears. “I suspected that this might be the reason for my presence. I accept, for now, but seek a replacement, I soon will.”

“Shaak Ti,” Knight Mundi said. “You have earned the respect of this Council, and you have performed your duties as Knight Kenobi’s stand-by without fail or flaw. We ask that you take the chair left vacant by Master Billaba.”

Anakin thought that Shaak Ti was repressing a delighted smile at being asked. “I accept, Masters,” she said, giving the collected Council a graceful bow. Qui-Gon, meanwhile, was staring at Venge with one eyebrow raised.

“Do not give me that look,” Venge said. “I know well your feelings on the matter. Yours was the _fifth_ name on my list.”

“Who else?” Qui-Gon asked, crossing his arms.

“Master T’ra and Master Yaddle were second and third. I cannot ask Micah, not with the way that Tahl’s pregnancy is progressing.” Venge sounded frustrated. “Even if I go beyond your name, my options are limited. Master Kurri is set on her course here; Master Licia is still recovering from Tholatin.”

“Master Qui-Gon.” Anakin looked at Yoda, who was smiling. “Only for a short time it will be. So bad, is it?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said in a flat voice.

Master Yoda chuckled. “Stubborn grand-Padawan. Good for you, this will be. Fulfills your obligation to the Council, it also does. After this, ask you again to take your place here, I will not. Agreeable this is, yes?”

“It sounds like blackmail.” Qui-Gon sighed. “How is this not also considered a conflict of interest?”

“I think that rule was created to keep bonded couples from squabbling with each other during Council meetings,” Master Plo said. “You will not both be sitting here at the same time, Qui-Gon. As a stand-by, you act at your own discretion, though it is considered polite to keep in mind the views of the Councilor whom you are acting for.”

“I accept,” Qui-Gon agreed, giving in. Then he looked at Venge. “We _are_ squabbling about this in the near future.”

“Join me on Corellia in two days and you may yell at me all you like,” Venge said.

“Corellia?” Qui-Gon’s irritation was replaced by intrigue. “What’s on Corellia?”

“Brandy,” Venge replied, which made Master Mace and Master Yaddle both chuckle. “In light of what’s happened, I extended the Shadows’ rest period from one day to five. I would…I need to see you, as well as the Padawans who are lurking out of camera range.”

[Hello, Master Obi-Wan,] Rillian howled in greeting.

“Hi, Master,” Anakin chimed in. “Legal swoop bike racing, Master.”

“Yes, but you must promise to corrupt Rillian, too,” Venge said.

Anakin grinned, even though Qui-Gon was treating them both to a half-hearted glower. “Awesome.”

“In two days, then, as long as I will not be needed for anything pressing?” Qui-Gon addressed the Council as a whole.

Master Yoda shook his head. “If remain here this morning, you all will, then a review we may conduct.”

“After your vows are all accepted, of course,” Knight Mundi said.

“It should also be easier to manage Temple politics, now that certain parties no longer wish me dead.” Venge glanced pointedly at Master Piell.

Master Piell snorted. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to prove my initial vote correct, and you did not do so. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“The results of your work with the Shadows, and the lack of body count, do seem to speak for themselves,” Master Koth granted.

“I would have considered you well within your rights to kill the idiots that attacked you, but you let them live with treatable injuries. That is more mercy than I would have granted,” Master Piell said.

“Your glowing estimation of my character fills my heart with utter joy,” Venge replied. “I must go. There is a Healer with a needle approaching, and she is plotting to stab me with it.” He looked up at Qui-Gon. “Two days,” he said, and the hologram vanished.

Master Saesee stirred in his chair and spoke. “If that man’s words were water, we’d all be drowning right now.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

He didn’t say his vows backwards, as tempting as it was to follow in Obi-Wan’s footsteps. Instead, Qui-Gon settled down into the empty chair with all of the enthusiasm of a prisoner awaiting execution.

Qui-Gon listened as Ki-Adi Mundi and Mace took turns relating the full story behind the assassination attempt, gritting his teeth and holding onto his temper with both hands. He’d known and understood that this was a possibility, but to have it come from this very room, from individuals who should have known better? It was both disturbing and infuriating; he was going to have to meditate long and hard to come to terms with his feelings.

Boda MonMassa had directed the confrontation in her role as Master of Shadows. Obi-Wan had stood at her side via projected hologram as Coleman Trebor and Depa Billaba were asked for the reasons behind their actions.

“She feared him?” T’ra Saa repeated in disbelief. “From his youth onwards?”

“That’s what she said.” Mace rubbed his face with both hands. “She should have spoken to us of her concerns from the beginning, but she did not.”

“Obi-Wan had the right to speak to them, of course,” Adi said. “He told Depa that Jil-Hyra’s death was not his fault, and it was not hers, either.”

“That was when Depa stormed out of the Council chamber.” Plo Koon shook his head. “I am concerned about her.”

“I’ll be checking on her after we’re done here,” Mace said, and then sighed. “I would be glad of your company, Adi.”

“Of course,” Adi agreed. “We are not abandoning her now.”

“What about Coleman?” Shaak Ti asked.

“I think he allowed Depa’s fears to sway him to her cause,” Mace said. “I’m not concerned about Master Trebor. He was foolish, not malicious. I believe he may have learned a very important lesson at the right time.” He sat up, visibly throwing off his disquiet. “Let’s get the agenda review done with, please. I have a Padawan at home who is wondering what’s keeping me.”

“And I believe the young ones with us could use a rest, too,” T’ra said, with a smile in their direction.

Rillian had both hands over her mouth. [I’m sorry!] she said with a muffled howl. [I didn’t mean to yawn!]

“Don’t worry, dearheart.” Adi waved off her apology. “We’ve been awake all night, also.”

“We’ll have to hold new votes regarding our biggest political issues, under your lead, of course,” Eeth said, nodding at T’ra.

“Force, not this morning,” Saesee grumbled. “We’ll wind up arguing about it all day long.”

“Agreed,” T’ra said with a firm nod. Then, slowly, but with increasing confidence, the Neti Master began her tenure as Head of the Order as she conducted the rest of the Council meeting.

 _Wow,_ Rillian sent at one point, when they were in the middle of discussing the current state of several key missions. _She’s really good at this._

 _That’s Mace’s Master,_ Anakin said. _He learned it from her._

 _Even though Master T’ra is quick to protest any hint of excellent leadership,_ Qui-Gon sent to them, tracking facial expressions as the conversation flowed around the room. _She prefers her quiet work._

 _Sounds like someone else I know,_ Anakin said, his tone full of mischief.

In short order, they were wrapping up. Qui-Gon considered two hours of review to be a fortunate span of time; it could easily have been worse. The replacement Councilors were well-versed in Temple goings-on, which made it easier for all parties to adjust.

Mace’s comm chiming caught his attention. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up from his chair and answering the call. “Windu.”

“Mace, it’s Licia.”

As one body, every Councilor in the room was suddenly paying strict attention to the comm device, alerted by the distressed sound of the other Master’s voice.

“What’s wrong, Licia?” Mace asked.

“I’m here with my sister,” Licia said. “Oh, gods, this is a complete disaster.”

Qui-Gon exchanged worried glances with Yoda. They could all hear the faint sound of heartbroken weeping.

“I am so sorry, Mace. Depa Billaba has left the Order.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am, apparently, sick. And fostering a dog. Uhm...the next part might be delayed. Or it might pour forth like a Southern thunderstorm in the afternoon sometime in the next six hours. (I have no idea, but I'm still trying for mostly-weekly updates.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Möbius](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514531) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix)
  * [Accidental Timeshare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617767) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix)




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